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| november 2011 |
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| Future Perfect | 2:18am sunday, 27th november |
This was the best version I could find of this: 
Someone posted a version of this on Facebook a while ago, and I thought it was awesome. The glasses on the guy really make it.
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| any day | 1:31am wednesday, 23rd november |
the picture of you is gathering dust
this is how long i have been waiting
there is busyness, there is business
sometimes i am nowhere to be seen
i am here, like the two forevers ago
time: is a strange thing if forgotten
life goes on, and this is strange, too
so the anticipation that it will start
that these hours now are imaginary
i will awake to what is real, any day
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| Greater | 2:01am saturday, 19th november |
Sometimes I feel as if there are great forces working in my life, and that I am definitely not one of them. But I think I will not clothe myself with a defeatist attitude, for as Gandhi once said, “Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.” For I think, whatever small things we can do, we must do them, for that is all we are. If we choose instead to stand by while the world rushes past, even what little we could make of it will come out to less than nothing. No one can live your life for you. And sometimes great things do come from us, but it is not because we ourselves are so great. The best thing you can say of a soul, I think, is that he is persistent. Great things come to those who try, and try again. Even if the great thing is merely learning to try again. And these larger forces at work in my life: I do my best to hold on to the good, let go of the bad. Sometimes to succeed, sometimes to fail — I am small, and battered by the high winds. But let it not be said that I sat at the side of the road, when I could have been walking, just to complain that I had no vehicle to carry me. Do what you can, with what you have, at the moment. Nothing else can be asked of you.
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| spark | 1:18am tuesday, 15th november |
sometimes the idea is a chain reaction of sparks
sometimes in a cycle, flashing over and over
or a network of dancing lights, like it were alive
and i dream what it must be to be consumed in such fires
like how i imagine the bodies of angels are
sometimes to think these energies are what keep me alive
not the body, but that which is the me in me
for the dream is the necessary food of the soul:
if you catch the eye of one of whom the spark has caught
you will see what mad purpose God has touched
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| Goings | 12:52am friday, 11th november |
So, how about an update? The day job being an Android developer is getting a little stressful, but I really can’t complain. I work like 4 hours a day and charge them for 8, mainly because I can; nobody’s complaining, everything usually gets done ahead of schedule. But want to get out of this routine sometime in the near future, and I’m working on that: the AI research gets dangerously near the completion of a prototype, and when that happens, I’m basically set for life. Other than that, getting set up on a blind date this Friday night, going dancing. Not that hopeful on it, since I must be lucky at cards instead. What else? Getting hooked on Japanese ramen, the real stuff, with the pieces of pork. Delish. Yeah, and I should exercise more. Pretty much all that’s going on with me. It’s a goodly awesome life, actually. I give thanks every day. Peace.
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| Angled | 12:30am monday, 7th november |
What will become of us, we the children of the broken dream? What we imagined could never come to pass, not in all the ages of the world. What we desired was the sun and the moon to move out of their orbits and revolve around our own little spheres of being. I know that there are childhood wishes that are easy enough to shed when childhood passes (though that may come late for some of us), but what of us who have dreamed mad dreams? Who have desired the wild things, not of this world? Hm. I must think on this. It is perhaps that there is not meaning plain in all things, that sometimes the “why” is angled away from the main point. We of the psychic outlands, let us hope there is reason somehow to our divergences: if not in the obvious face of the matters, somewhere we may yet realize.
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| zero | 1:57am thursday, 3rd november |
there are zero matadors
dancing on zero tables
fighting zero ferocious bulls
zero bloodthirsty spectators
carried by zero flying carpets
yelling zero metaphysical truths
and the zero of the countdown
makes much of such nothings
as zero approaches in secret
the flip of a dread switch
when everything happens
and the crowd goes wild
at the slaying of the bulls
while the matadors dance
while we fly into oblivion
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